


Sunlight and Shade

by Trialia



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Episode: s04e10 Revelations, F/M, Happy Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Married Couple, Older Characters, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-12
Updated: 2008-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trialia/pseuds/Trialia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't need to hide, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunlight and Shade

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by Allison (jinjurly) &amp; Elizabeth (unavitasegreta). Title was a suggestion from my dearly-missed friend Jane, who passed away in 2014. Originally written for the Make Laura Happy challenge on LJ.

Beta: Allison (general-jinjur) &amp; Elizabeth (unavitasegreta) 

Spoilers: _Revelations_

A/N: Wrote this before location-filming spoilers emerged originally for the Make Laura Happy challenge, but wasn't completed in time. Thanks to my church minister, Jane, for the title! :)

xxx

She’s wearing a really short skirt today, now that all the physical work is done at last. He recognises it: she’d had it on New Caprica, but must have had to re-hem it; he remembers it being a lot longer. He likes it better this way.

Of course, he only thinks all of that when he’s not actually looking at her.

When he’s _looking_…

There’s no need to try to hide what he feels for Laura, now, and he wouldn’t if he could. Jealousy and possessiveness spark in him, though, when he spots other people - not just men, even - staring at her gorgeous legs and ass, showcased in that skirt, in the same way that he has been for ages.

There’s one word rising to a growl that he tries not to let leave his throat. He knows what she would say if he voiced it here, even though she has told him that she likes it every now and then.

_Mine._

Laura turns her head, glancing over in his direction, and smiles, trailing her bare feet in the edge of the fountain. The smile says it all: she knows the effect she’s having and she’s revelling in it.

He wonders, deliberately letting his gaze stroke slowly up each of her legs in turn, if she was like this before the Cylons nuked Caprica. He can picture her now, sitting by one of the fountains in the Riverwalk district with her uncomfortable high-heeled shoes abandoned to one side of her and her toes just dipping into the water…

He comes out of his daydream to hear her speak his name, and realises he’s been walking toward her the whole time.

Laura chuckles, a twinkle in her eye, and hitches up her skirt a little more as she shifts over to make room for him.

“Good afternoon,” he greets her cheerfully. She’d gone out by the time he’d woken up; this is the first time he’s seen her all day. He bends over to kiss her ’hello’ as she tilts her face up in anticipation of it. The kiss is slow, gentle and lasting: they have all the time in the world, now, and nobody cares how they use it.

They part after a time and Laura slides an arm about his back, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder.

“It is. Enjoying your retirement?” she asks, half-joking. He brushes her hair, grown out into short copper curls, with his lips before answering.

“I’d enjoy it a lot more if I got to wake up with you more often, Mrs. Adama.”

His tone is light, but he means every word. Laura’s been up early every day of the last week or two, usually before him. At his age he values the extra sleep he’s never been used to getting, but he’d rather have his new wife beside him when he wakes. They haven’t had much time to themselves, yet.

Laura’s other hand creeps to stroke his thigh, and he holds back his instinctive reaction with difficulty; after all, there are children present.

“Well then,” she grins up at him, mischief in her eyes, “would you like to go back to bed for a while?”

He laughs. “Good idea.”

They’re barely inside the house when Laura beats him to the action, locking the door and pinning him back against it - he goes willingly, disregarding the fact that he’s physically stronger than she is - within two seconds of closing it.

Her breath is already coming more quickly; her hands are roaming, frantic and fierce. His shirt doesn’t stay on for long once she’s pulled it out from his pants.

He pushes back, just a touch, trying to get her to let him return the favour and undress her. The grin she casts him is wicked, and she steps away, unbuttoning her blouse with agonising slowness, walking backwards.

This time he doesn’t hold back the growl as she drops the shirt over the back of the chair nearest to her. Laura’s smile grows ever more sensual and predatory as she moves.

“Tease,” he accuses, but he can’t hold back the confident grin that threatens.

He loves her so much like this. It’s still a novelty to him, Laura’s unashamed sensuality. He’d never had the faintest idea, when he first met the Secretary of Education back on Galactica, what seems like a lifetime ago, that she could be this way; nor had he for a long time after. But now--

The skirt, unzipped, tumbles down the length of her legs to lie around her feet, and she steps out of it, wearing nothing more than high heels, her underwear and the silver bracelet she treasures.

His mouth is hanging half-open; he doesn’t even notice, too wrapped up in the sight of Laura, his Laura, his wife, slowly revealing herself to his hungry eyes, teasing him without mercy or restraint.

He breathes her name then, in something almost wonder.

She smirks and takes a few more steps backward, walking toward their bedroom without even needing to check her sense of direction. One hand bends behind her back to unhook the bra she’s still wearing, black cotton against fair skin, but before she removes it she steps round the corner; all he sees then is her hand daintily, slowly, wickedly letting the garment fall from her fingertips. He follows, shucking off his remaining clothes as she leads him on.

He curses under his breath, when he opens their bedroom door after her. She’s sitting in the centre of the bed, her knees drawn up and slightly parted, and she’s not wearing a stitch. Bill bites off a groan.

The sight of her and the feline smile on her lips is almost more than he can bear. He’s felt younger since marrying Laura and building their home, and he knows it shows in the way he almost pounces on her, here and now.

She giggles, suddenly, parting her legs for him to settle there as he falls to meet her.

“Mine--”

This time he doesn’t bother to restrain the thought, and as he mutters the word she arches up to meet him.

“Yes,” Laura hisses, heat rising. She reaches up with both hands and pulls him down on a harsh breath; as her nails bite into his back he echoes the hiss, but this time of pain.

“Sorry,” she apologises, quickly, not looking very sorry.

“Don’t be,” he says. “It’s who you are. Frak, Laura!” The last words are on something almost a gasp; her hands are wandering again, lower, this time with a very definite purpose. She rakes a nail over his ass and he catches her hand, pinning her wrists to the mattress. Her ice-green eyes burn fire, and she thrusts her hips hard up against his, trying to force him to move as he carefully changes his grip to hold both her slender wrists in one large hand. His eyes close for a second when he feels the pressure of her soft belly against his cock. He's achingly hard, now.

"Behave," he growls playfully.

The smile Laura gives him in response is so sweet and warm his heart skips from its already quickened pace; joy, pleasure and play are in that smile, no trace of the sadness that's marked her for so long. The fine lines about the corners of her mouth and eyes show no more than her laughter, now: she's his, she's alive, and she's beautiful.

She repeats the movement of a second before, jolting him out of the rapt attention he's been giving to her face, freeing herself from his lax grip to pull him down over her.

"Now," she orders, fingers pressing into the muscles of his shoulders. He gives her a short shake of his head, taking her hands again to remove them from his body, and shifts.

She gasps when she feels the heat of his breath on her most sensitive skin, and parts her legs a little more for him, letting her eyes fall shut.

"Oh, yes... Bill..."

His stubble rubs and scratches along her inner thighs as he's kissing his way up them, and the idea of having beard burn in such a place makes her laugh, suddenly. She can feel him smile against the dip between hip and abdomen when he hears her.

"Just a thought," she begins breathlessly, before being cut off as he makes a movement elsewhere. "_Oh,_ my Gods," she groans.

He's lapping at her labia like a cat would its milk. She can't stop herself from burying a hand in his hair, nails on his scalp, pressing him deeper, closer to where she wants him.

Can't breathe; can't think; can't stop.

Her hips jerk when he licks her clitoris, just once, with the tiny, flicking movement that always drives her wild. A sound comes from her throat, though she doesn't know what, and couldn't care less. He slides two fingers inside her, his thumb stroking her clit and everywhere else just outside her vagina as his mouth plays across the tender skin below her navel.

Her words are all gone now, lost to the hurricane slowly building inside her as her heartbeat pulses ever faster, blood pounding in a triangle of nerves through her aching body: it's all she can feel. Her knees are weak, her toes curling, and her hips make tiny thrusting movements up towards Bill's fingers and mouth, his free hand now tweaking her right nipple - always the more sensitive - in rhythm with the press and stroke and slide of his digits in and around her.

She knows, subconsciously, how much noise she's making: her throat is raw and her breath coming harshly.

It doesn't matter.

His hands move, mouth replacing the first with fierce attention to his task, this thing he so loves to do to her; his hands are holding her down by hip and thigh now. His fingers press into her flesh, tightly, keeping her in place as she tries to arch up, holding so tightly she's finding it hard to breathe.

She's forgotten all she ever knew about the world outside this room; doesn't care to know anything beyond this bed, her body and this man, this one loving presence hot and warm and heavy between her thighs and in her heart and--

_Yes._

She can't help but scream out when his teeth scrape her clit; the touch is light but enough to break her, and as he sucks and licks and loves her she's there, she's _there_, all the way inside her own skin and she can't come _down_; she can only feel.

Her heart pounds, blood rushing hard through her system, down and down; she can feel the pulse in her nipples, in the toes now uncurled, in her fingertips, in the tiny aftershocks that ripple through her body and make her catch her breath; and in him.

He's lying against her leg, 1400 shadow tickling the inside of her knee, one hand lightly caressing the calf opposite, his surprisingly soft fingertips warm and damp against flesh now tacky with her drying sweat. His breath is coming as fast as hers.

"Oh, Bill," she sighs, eyes fluttering open, the utter pleasure and satiation in her voice apparent even to her. There's a touch of wonder in the smile he shows her, and she's sure it reflects in her own gaze; as does her amusement at the rest of the sight of him: his stubbled cheeks and chin glisten, coated in her. "So enthusiastic," she grins at him, lowering her lashes coquettishly. Bill laughs, swiping a finger sideways over his face and smirking at her.

"I didn't hear you complaining."

"Oh, never."

The note in her voice is nothing short of playful, a deliberate effect approaching a purr, as she runs her nails lightly down his outstretched arm. Bill grins back, teeth gleaming white in his dark face. The afternoon sunshine plays over the bed and Laura sighs, happy.

Her hand continues lower as he moves up to her side; his palm is skimming, with clear enjoyment, up over the soft skin of her hip, and he slips a thumb down to caress the dip between her thigh and the slight curve above it. She gasps at his light touch, and her hand clenches convulsively where it rests, tugging at his chest hair and making him bite off a yelp as her eyes fall shut and her hips arch up to him.

The little sound torn from the back of her throat brings a responding groan from him, and he runs his fingers down further, briefly brushing her clit and evoking a strangled moan from Laura, before gently lifting one of her thighs to part them. She doesn't open her eyes, but she lets her legs fall further apart, reaching up to grip his broad shoulders. The movement she makes, the pull of it, only serves as an echo of his own desire. Her hips press up against his erection as he moves over her, and he breathes out, hard.

"Bill, please... that's... _oh_..."

Her voice trails off into a wordless sigh as he enters her, slowly. He knows, by now, how sensitive she'll still be from her last orgasm, and likes to play on that, drawing out her pleasure for as long as he can without causing her pain - as he recalls clearly from their first week as a couple, there's such a thing as oversensitivity. He watches her face, biting the inside of his cheek for control - how he got to that point he's not sure, it's too early and surely he can hold on longer than a teenager frakking his girlfriend for the first time, but it doesn't seem to make a difference and...

His thoughts simply trail off in a blur as Laura wraps first one leg, and then the other, about his hips.

_Soft._

He can't help but move, now. He has to, needs to - her eyes are closed, her lips parted as her tongue flickers over them and the feeling, the emotion and the sensation, of being inside Laura is just so _much—_

"So... oh, gods," she's panting against his ear, "... so good ... yes ..." He likes to hear her talk, she knows.

Her fingers clutch at the sheet beneath her as he thrusts; she feels the unpleasant scrape of fabric against her long fingernails, but she doesn't care about it now. Not when her entire body is flushed with heat, all her nerves tingling with a pleasurable tension and the anticipation of its release. His face is buried in her neck, his breath hop and damp on her throat, stubble scratching ever so lightly, burning her skin; her hair is clinging to her shoulders with the glistening sweat that pools between them and she's tightening around him in a deliberate rhythm as he drives her higher, knowing it's doing to him very closely what it's doing to her, feeling the pressure and pleasure build, _faster, further, more—_

She's almost holding her breath, unknowing and uncaring of the fact - this is all there is and all she wants there to be -

Bill pinches her nipple, almost hard enough to hurt and she cries out sharply, an arm locked around his shoulder as she shudders, her hips jerking erratically, not caring what the light behind her eyelids might be. He presses harder into her, one more time and then again, holding her hard enough to bruise as he follows her into oblivion.

They breathe in unison for a while, in the afterglow. Laura's lying half over him, head on his chest with her soft, sweat-damp skin pressed into his from her breast to the long, slim leg thrown over his. He lies there, idly enjoying the feeling, thinking of nothing more than the woman atop him and the slow heat still trickling through his system. He feels her lips curve slowly against him, and she exhales in a long, blissful sigh, breaking the synchronicity. He reaches down to stroke her tangled hair back from her face, the gesture purely affectionate.

Turning her face to look up at him, Laura stretches over to cover them both in the cast-aside blanket.

"I like your ideas," he says, finally, smiling.

Laura just laughs.

_fin_


End file.
